L'incendie de mon Coeur
by la vampire susan
Summary: The Fire of My Heart. After the Opera Populaire's fire, only ruins remain. Madeleine is one of the surviving ballerinas. When she is thrown into the operahouse with her life at stake, she meets the infamous, Monsieur le Phantom, the unexpected hero.
1. the mysterious monsieur

The Parisian summer of 1890 was especially hot. The few survivors believed this to be the paranormal result of the opera house fire, which still stood proudly beside the street. To passers-by, it appeared as an old, uninhabited building, but to those who managed to escape, it is the home of the infamous opera ghost. This fire produced skeptics who targeted the survivors, blaming them for the death of hundreds of stagehands, ballerinas, and audience members. Something like a witch hunt soon proceeded. Many of the surviving victims became homeless, and were the easiest targets to attack. People were publicly humiliated, beaten, raped, and killed.

Outside of the opera house, a group of ten or so people jumped from an old horse drawn carriage, pulling an unwilling young woman. The men cursed in uncontrollable rage as they kicked open the door and dragged the young woman inside.

What was left of the entrance hall supported the mob as they rushed up the elegant, curving stairs and into the theatre. Their angry, excited cries echoed through the aisles and all around the stage, stirring the thick layers of dust. They dragged the girl around the orchestra pit and onto the stage. She landed on her side before the laughing mob, her face red with tears and bruises.

"Since you love this opera house so much," one of the men said as he approached her, "let's play a game." The men agreed with a laugh. "I will give you to the count of five…and if we can find you, this opera house will be the last thing you ever see…"

"Please, monsieur," she pleaded, "It was not me!"

"1…" the girl stood, scrambling nervously and ran backstage, pushing the curtains aside as she tripped and stumbled. "2…" The men silently began to disperse around the stage, disappearing behind the curtains. "3…" Suddenly, her scream echoed through the theatre, taunting her quietly as the men dragged her back onto the stage. "How sad…zut pour toi…" The men laughed, throwing her back onto the hard wooden stage.

"Please!" she cried as the mouth of the group pulled her up and held her close.

"No, mon cher…" he said gently as he pulled the bun of her hair loose, releasing her long, brown locks. "You will, as you promised before, savor my love."

"No!" she cried again as her corset was cut and tossed away. She thrashed her arms and legs, fighting her attackers, but they were stronger, and held her as the leader of the group cut open her skirt, leaving her in her thin undershirt and petticoat. Her bare feet kicked and her fists flew, but they retaliated with blows twice as painful. Miraculously, her foot collided with her attacker's nose, pushing him back long enough for her to scramble a few feet away from the group.

"Who dares to intrude upon my opera house?" a powerful voice asked. It seemed to emanate from every corner of the theatre. The men froze, and the woman's face froze with terror. "Leave now, or savor the last moments of your worthless life!" The men laughed mockingly at what they believed to be the trick of the young woman.

"Tell me, mon cher," the man said, stepping forward, "how is it that you create such a manly voice from every corner of this theatre?"

"I have not said a word…" Her voice trembled as she stood.

"This girl is not the source of my voice, monsieur…" the voice said. "Shall you tempt me further, you will see my face…"

"You lie…" the man said.

"I do not," the voice said grimly. "Madamoiselle, you know of my trickery, am I right?"

"Yes, monsieur…" she answered.

"So shall I show them of my talents?" he asked.

"If you wish, but please…monsieur…do not harm me…." she pleaded and the voice laughed. Suddenly, the stage opened up beneath her and she fell into the darkness beneath the stage, her frightened scream echoing up to the men.

"Unless you wish to have the fate of this woman, I suggest you leave my opera house," the voice boomed and the men ran without looking back.

The opera house was silent.

A dark figure moved smoothly through the dark hallways of the opera house. The figure's footsteps were silent as they approached the unsteady breaths of the crying woman. She lay on her side, cradling her bleeding wound. A gloved hand gently touched her shoulder and she flinched back in fear.

"Please monsieur," she cried, "please do not hurt me!"

"You are mistaken, mademoiselle, I am nothing like those men you so strangely encountered," the figure said, crouching to her level. Through the dim light, she gazed up at the figure's face, her eyes growing wide. "Yes, it is me." He paused for a moment as she gazed into his light blue eyes. Something in his eyes met with something in hers, and for a moment, she was lost. "You're hurt," he said, gently touching her forehead. She flinched back at the pain of his touch and he quickly drew his hand back.

"Monsieur, I am so sorry," she said as she stood. "I have intruded upon your opera house."

"You have not intruded," he said, stopping her. "What is your name?"

"Madeleine."

"Well, Madeleine, you have my word that you have not intruded. However," he continued, "where is it that you shall be going?"

"If I leave here, I will lose my life," she said sadly, folding her hands together.

"Well then welcome to my opera house, Madeleine, it is no different than the last time it was inhabited." A grim smile overcame his lips.

"And you, you're _the_ Monsieur le Phantom?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes," he answered.

"Oh! Merci, Monsieur!" she cried, enveloping him in her arms. His smile turned straight and she pulled away quickly, feeling the tenseness in his body.

"It is alright," he said, sensing her fear. "You may find your former dormitory if you please. I believe the fire did not damage the rooms that much."

"I will, Monsieur, but where is it that you shall be sleeping?" she asked curiously.

"Where I have slept for all of my years." he answered. "Perhaps, if you are cautious and wary, you may find it some time." He nodded and departed into the darkness.

"Bon nuit, Monsieur le Phantom," she said quietly.

"Monsieur le Phantom…" he mused darkly.

~V~V~V~V~V~

A/N: I hate putting author's notes in the beginning of the chapters. It just ruins the story. So here it is, the first chapter of a remake of another shot at a phantom story. I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews and criticism (no flames please) are greatly appreciated, even if they are negative, (just no flames…that's mean :P)

I will decided soon if I shall post the next chapter…

PS: I like the name Madeleine… its pretty. And yes, I do speak a little French, but not a lot. I am nowhere near fluent.

Thanks!


	2. you have a heart

There were no lights inside the small dormitory where the ballerinas used to sleep. The candles were all melted into pathetic pools of wax from the fire, and the beds were no better. Even the clock which sat high up on the wall had stopped working.

"Do not curse yourself," Madeleine thought to herself as she stood in the doorway of the dormitory. "Monsieur le Phantom has been kind enough, allowing you to stay here and allowing you to keep your life."

She sighed. As quiet as her bare feet would let her, she walked over to the bed that was three away from the end.

"Nineteen years of my life were spent here," she remembered, tracing her fingers along the metal bed frame. "Those nineteen years are over," she began, "and this is year twenty-one, and no decent twenty-one year-old walks around in her undershirt and petticoat, even if there is no one to see her."

She stood and looked around. It was still light outside, she had only been here an hour. What was she to do?

"Mon Dieu, Madeleine, qu'est que si passé?" Her voice echoed through the hollow dormitory. The costumes, she remembered, were a floor below her. There had to be some clothing there, even if it were a man's costume, it was something. She turned and began her journey down to the next floor.

"Mal-dit!" she cursed as she cut her foot on a piece of glass. Her head wound throbbed and she remembered her bleeding cut. "Maybe there is some leftover muslin downstairs too."

She began her journey down the dark stairs.

The stairs were darker than the dormitory, but still some sort of light emitted from somewhere… With her feet, she felt for each step. With her hands, she followed the wall. Her left foot touched something hard and metal with glass around it. Carefully, she picked the object up, and after a moment, found the switch. It was an old lantern. The dim glow it produced was enough to see a foot or two before her.

"Cava bien." She smiled as she finally found the women's costume room. It seemed as though the fire had only caught from the theatre and the floors above it; this room was in perfect order.

A few ballerina costumes were hanging on one wall with chorus costumes on the opposite wall. Inside a chest, were bloomers, petticoats, and undershirts, all for women. She would have to remember that for later.

She exited the room.

A few feet down was another room where all of the masks and props were made. There, sat a complete roll of muslin. Madeleine tore herself two strips and dusted them off, wrapping one beneath her hair to hold her wound, and one around her foot, to hold the cut.

She moved on to the next room.

The silence was pounding in her ears, giving her a slight ache. Subconsciously, she began humming a small tune that all of the ballerinas used to sing together. With her own voice keeping her company, she peaked inside the next few rooms. They were all full of materials for making the larger sets.

Quietly, she moved back to the women's costume room. She filled the chest with a few other items of clothing, and shut it, causing a cloud of dust to form near her face. She sneezed, falling backwards onto the floor. With a huff, she began to drag the chest up the stairs, balancing the lantern in her other hand. Halfway up the stairs, she stepped on an old piece of parchment, slipping her foot out from below her. The lantern flew out of her hand, clattering down the stairs next to the chest. Madeleine landed next to the lantern with a thud. Somewhere, a voice was quietly laughing.

"Monsieur?" she called as she sat up and looked around the dark stairwell. "Oh!" she gasped as a strong pair of arms lifted her up off the floor.

"Yes, it is me," Monsieur le Phantom answered, a smile spread across his face. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright, thank you," she answered nervously. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the white of his mask became more pronounced. Gently, he placed her on her fleet and picked up the chest as if it was light as a feather. Without another word, he climbed the stairs. "Oh! Merci, Monsieur!"

Quickly, she began to follow him up the stairs, slipping on the same piece of parchment. Once again, she tumbled down the stairs and landed flat on her stomach. Monsieur le Phantom paused at the top of the stairs and glanced nervously at Madeleine. With a groan, she sat up, holding her head.

"Are you sure you are a ballerina?" Monsieur asked, a dark humor in his voice. Quietly she laughed. They stood in silence for a moment until Monsieur turned and disappeared from sight.

The opera house fell silent.

She walked up the stairs, this time without falling, and found her way to the dormitory. At the end of the room sat the chest before her bed. He did he know, she thought. As she stepped closer, she noticed that he had laid out a clean set of blankets and a small pillow.

"The stories were wrong, Monsieur," she said, "You have a heart."

The ear straining silence was her only response. However, she could have sworn that she heard someone laughing, but it seemed as if it was from another world.

~V~V~V~V~V~

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! They are greatly appreciated!! (Hope everyone had a great Turkey Day and stuffed their faces!!! I know I did!) Let me know what you think of this chapter! Thanks so much!

Mucho love!!  
La Vampire Susan

BTW: I DON'T OWN PTO OR ERIK (even though I would love to own him in all his sexy glory…) I only own Madeleine and the creeps who threw her in the opera house.

Thanks!


	3. Don't Call me Monsieur

His footsteps were smooth and silent over the aged wood of the catwalks. Erik paused. His ankle was caught on something that made a nasty tearing sound. Upon examination, he found that an old nail had ripped the bottom of his fine, black pants. _Another tear this theatre has produced,_ he thought to himself, _another thing I must mend._

As he examined the tear closer, something caught his eye. The young ballerina walked below him, aimlessly wandering across the stage. _Madeleine. _He had memorized her name and almost every feature about her. She was a common young lady and a common young ballerina. To him, nothing could compare to his soprano.

Quietly she began to hum something as her feet nervously moved beneath her. Erik watched curiously as she walked across the stage with perfect balance upon her toes. _She must have found some old Pointe shoes_; Erik thought to himself, watching silently as she gradually began to dance.

Silently, he crossed the catwalks and climbed down the ladder into the wings of the stage. His hand caressed the wall, finding the small passageway which led to the orchestra pit and climbed down the small set of stairs. He sat down on the piano bench, gently turning the knob of an old oil lamp and placed his fingers on the keys.

Erik hesitated. With every dance, there should be music, and with all music there must be dance; he knew that. Without thought, his fingers traveled over the keys, playing out a sad melody.

Above him, Madeleine paused.

"Monsieur?" she asked quietly. Erik grinned.

"Dance." His voice rang out around her, echoing up through the balconies.

She paused, and began to dance.

His gloved fingers began to flutter over the faded keys as her feet floated above him on the old wooden stage. The Phantom's finger's stuttered for a moment in aggravation; he could not see her dance. He peered over to his side where a small record player sat. He lifted his left hand and, while still playing with his right, he turned the lever which gave power to the player and allowed it to play, lifting his hand from the keys.

The music was quiet, but still sounded familiar. Erik could not quite place where it was from. He did not care, however, as he climbed back up to the darkened wings where he watched the young ballerina dance.

She was beautiful and elegant as she twisted and turned to the sound of the music. He recognized parts of her dance from an old routine the ballerinas once performed. She must have loved that opera. The song ended and she paused, looking curiously around. The record began to play another song, and Erik froze. Someone must have recorded the music from his opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_.

The dark music of the ballet began to play from the player in the orchestra pit. Madeleine paused and listened for a moment.

"_It was you, monsieur,"_ she breathed, looking curiously around. He watched as her eyes scanned right past his hidden figure and around the other side of the stage. She took three steps back, pausing in the center of the stage. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fright and curiosity, but she did not run away. Instead, she shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to step forward on her toes.

"_She must have been one of the ballerinas," _he thought to himself, _"the ones in the final scene…"_

Her arms moved with an invisible partner as her legs twisted and lifted to the sound of the dark, sensual music. Erik knew those steps as well as he knew the music, but the urge to join her scared him. The song met the halfway point, and as the music grew to a crescendo, he stepped out onto the stage. She was not facing him, but as she stood on her toes, reaching her delicate hand out to her nonexistent partner, Erik grasped it gently, making her jump.

"Monsieur!" she gasped, stumbling backwards, "Monsieur, you frightened me!" Erik grinned, taking her hand in his.

"You dance beautifully," he said, spinning her to the music. Madeleine smiled shyly and continued to dance with him. They stepped and turned, dipped and spun to the intense music until it turned slow, and Erik stood behind her with his gloved hands resting on her delicate hips. The music faded and the record shut off, leaving them in a dreamy state.

"Monsieur…" she began, but he silenced her.

"Do not call me _monsieur_," he said as he turned to face her, "My name is Erik."

VvVvVvVvV

A/N: What did you think? Sorry its taken me so long to update, I've been really busy with school and my novel. :) R&R please!!!


	4. Drowning

The opera house was silent, but that was not unusual. Madeleine had become used to the silence, but no matter how hard she tried, it could never comfort her. Dreams of the beautiful operas and arias haunted her in the all too vivid dreams she was plagued with, and made her wish that the fateful fire had never taken place. Madeleine had lived in the opera house for a few weeks now, and almost every night, as she lay in a dreamy state in her bed, the faint music from some organ resonated to her ears. The songs were filled with love, devastation, loneliness, and when she could no longer resist the curiosity which so naturally filled her, she began her dangerous exploration of the unseen parts of the _Opera Populaire_.

Standing up from her old bed, Madeleine smoothed the white ballerina's dress she wore. It was left over from the infamous opera where Christine Daae took La Carlotta's place. Gently she dusted some dirt from the bodice and leaned down to tie the ribbons on her pointe shoes. Ever since she had cut her foot on the glass, the pointe shoes had been on her feet. She tied her hair into a loose bun with a thin, blue ribbon and left the dormitory.

For over an hour, she wandered through the many hallways of the opera house, passing old dressing rooms and prop closets, but she had no luck in finding some kind of passageway or trap door which led to le Monsieur le Phantom's mysterious lair.

"This is harder than I thought it would be," Madeleine sighed, looking around hopelessly. Just as she was about to give up, a misplaced draft caught her attention. The air which blew lightly across her body smelled damp, and appeared to come from the dressing room she conveniently stood before. Slowly, she opened the door and paused at the person before her. It was her reflection in the full size mirror of Christine Daae's dressing room that made her pause, but there were no window's in this room to create a draft. The draft grew stronger, and after investigating the room for a moment, she approached the mirror. She ran her fingers across the ornate golden frame and paused as they fell into a mysterious gap between the frame and the mirror. The damp smell of the draft grew stronger as she pulled on the mirror, creating the secret passageway she had been searching for all day.

She smiled in triumph, and continued her exploration through the newly found passageway.

The rough, stone floor beneath her was riddled with small puddles, and as her adventure down the mysterious corridor continued, she was unpleasantly surprised by rats. They would run away the very moment they saw her, but still, she yelped and gasped in fright. Madeleine had never been too fond of the small creatures.

The hallway led to a mysterious flight of stairs which appeared to go on forever. Below her, water dripped down and landed in some body of water. Cautiously, she began her walk down the stairs. Her legs shook in nervousness as she paused at a landing to look for some sort of light or hallway at the bottom, but there was no luck. The faint sound of the organ grew louder as she continued her exploration.

The stairs were silent, and her pointe shoes made small tapping noises as the wood in the toe met the hard stone floor. Madeleine paused and looked back to the entrance of the stairwell. She was halfway down. She smiled in pride and continued down to the next landing. Suddenly, the floor opened beneath her.

"Ah!" she screamed, trying to grasp onto the floor above her, but her fingers slipped and she fell under the water. She surfaced and gasped in panic as an iron grate slid over the opening above her and slowly began to lower.

"Help! Someone, please!" Madeleine shouted, crying in panic. "Monsieur, please!" There was no answer, however, and her only reply was the echo of her desperate voice. "Monsieur, please!" she cried. The grate was pushing her down into the water, and just before she submerged, she peered up to the dim light which came from the open trap door above her.

She was completely submerged when the iron grate stopped moving. The water was silent and still as she held on, her grip loosening as she cried for more air. Colored spots began to cloud her eyes, and slowly, her consciousness abandoned her. A loud bang echoed through the water and the iron grate began to rise back up. She gripped the metal as hard as she could, letting it carry her slowly up to the top, where a hand waited for her.

"Come on, you need to help me," the mysterious rescuer said as he pulled her up and onto the cold, stone floor. Madeleine collapsed onto her side, gasping for air. "Are you alright?"

"Monsieur?" she asked, looking up at her rescuer.

"Yes?" he replied, shutting the trap door and resetting his trap. He looked up at her nonchalantly as she wiped water from her eyes and squeezed out her hair. "Well? Are you mute?"

"No, Monsieur," she replied quickly, "Thank you."

"Yes…well…you'd better return to your dormitory. It's not safe down here," he replied, sliding on his black gloves and adjusting his mask. His thick cape was spread perfectly on the floor behind him as he knelt, engulfing the lower half of his body in shadow.

"It's so lonely up there…" Madeleine sighed sadly.

"And you believe that it is no lonelier down here in these dungeons?" The Phantom replied, a hint of venom coating his words.

"It is, but if we stay separate…Monsieur, all I am asking is for some company," she begged. "I cannot take this silence for much longer." The Phantom laughed, his deep, melodic voice echoing down the empty corridors below.

"You shall survive only if you will yourself to, Madame," the Monsieur began, but she cut him off defensively.

"Monsieur," she interrupted, "I am no longer a _Madame_. My husband rid himself of me not too long ago. I'm sure you remember that day." Her voice was also coated with angry venom.

"Yes, I remember, _Mademoiselle_," the Monsieur continued, "You are welcome to leave any time you would like." He nodded, his final words spoken, and turned away from her to walk back down to his lair. Madeleine stood in amazement at his slight outburst and watched as he disappeared behind a pillar not far from where she sat.

"Monsieur, wait!" she called. Quickly, she ran down to where he had disappeared, but all she found was a small out cove covered in shadow. He had vanished into thin air, but Madeleine knew his tricks. "Monsieur, I know you are still here, I can feel it." His laughter echoed around her tauntingly.

"I am everywhere; doesn't it seem as though that is true sometimes?" he taunted from some mysterious place. "Why did you even consider wandering down my dangerous staircase?"

"You were playing your organ, I could hear you, but I could not tell where it was coming from." Madeleine answered. "I was curious, as is my nature."

"I can see that," the Phantom answered, followed by a quiet chuckle. She balled her fists in aggravation. "Have I made you angry, Mademoiselle?"

"No," Madeleine answered.

"Well, Mademoiselle, I believe that it would be best if you return to the upper floors of this opera house."

"I no longer care about what is best for me!" Madeleine argued. "There is no one left in this world that cares about what is best for me."

"I would not be too sure about that," the Phantom replied, "there must be at least one…"

"Who?" Madeleine asked, pausing for a moment. The silence engulfed them as her thoughts ran wild through her head. Slowly, she stepped forward, reaching her hand out into the shadows. With another step, her hand brushed against something soft, and was definitely not a stone wall. She drew back and gasped as a shadow flew past her, grasping her hand.

"Do you really wish to see the dungeons of my opera house?" the shadow asked, flashing his white mask. Madeleine nodded, her eyes lighting up the darkness around her. "Then you must keep up with me; can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me, stay to the side, and keep your hand at the level of your eye…" The Phantom challenged, a wicked and dangerous smile spreading across his unmasked cheek. His blue eyes glowed with the excitement of his challenge, and suddenly, he began his run down the stairway.


	5. Journey to the Lair

Madeleine ran. She ran as fast as she could, but no matter how hard she tried, the Phantom was still far in front of her. Every so often, he would turn to peer behind him and check on his pursuer. The Monsieur grinned wickedly at the sight of Madeleine struggling to keep up. His eyes gleamed with excitement and hidden happiness. When he laughed, her jaw tensed and her eyes focused intently on her target.

"Watch your step, Mademoiselle," the Phantom warned as he turned quickly down a hidden corridor. Madeleine froze where he had vanished and stared into the darkness.

"Monsieur le Phantom, I would appreciate it if you stopped these vanishing games," Madeleine called into the shadows. His laughter echoed around her.

"I think you've ran enough for now," he replied, "Do you trust me?"

"Do I trust you?" she repeated, slightly confused. "Do I have a choice?" Silently, he reached his gloved hand out of the darkness.

"Like I said," the Phantom continued, "You can follow me, or you can return to the dormitories." Madeleine took a breath, swallowed her pride, and took his hand. His grip was gentle, yet guiding as he led her down the pitch black corridor. Her hand groped the wall as she followed him silently. A small click echoed around them and the Phantom paused.

"What was that?" she whispered, inching backwards. She lost her balance, however, as a small stone rose from the floor. Her foot slipped and she fell backwards, her hand slipping from his gloved form.

"No!" the Phantom gasped, realizing the fatality of his trap. He stepped on the button which portruded from the stone floor, causing the small bed of spikes below her to retreat back into the floor. Thankfully, she was saved, but as she fell, a sickening crack resounded around them. "Madeleine!"

"Monsieur…" she breathed in response. He knelt by her side, pressing a stone in the wall which illuminated multiple dim candles around them.

"Yes, are you alright?" he asked, helping her sit up.

"Yes," she said, laughing weakly in response.

"What?" he asked in panic, "What is so funny?"

"You've never called me by my name before…" she replied with a smile. He sighed, a slight smile appearing from behind his mask.

"Neither have you, Madamoiselle," he answered, taking her hand as she stood.

"I am perfectly aware of that, Erik…" she said. "Shall we continue on our journey?"

"Only if you are feeling well enough to do so," he answered, holding out his hand. She smiled and took his hand.

Quietly, they continued their journey down the dim corridor. The Phantom's heart was in his throat, but he refused to let his guest know. Beside him, Madeleine was trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from bursting. Neither of them changed their calm facades.

From somewhere inside of her, Madeleine gathered the courage to break the immaculate silence.

"Monsieur," she asked quietly, "Why is it that you kept this corridor in darkness until now?"

"It was a challenge of sorts…" he replied with a bit of mystery in his voice.

"How so?" She asked, turning to look at his masked face.

"You seem to me like a very precarious young woman. The moment you entered my opera house, you were in some sort of trouble." He began. "I wanted to see exactly how brave you were. "

"And did I pass this test?" she asked challengingly.

"Yes," he replied reluctantly, "you are the first of three who have passed my _test_."

"Then it's an honor, Monsieur." He looked over at Madeleine's curious eyes and nodded. She smiled in return.

They continued their journey down the dim corridor in comfortable silence.

A few times, Madeleine's damp Pointe shoe slid across the wet stone, but the Phantom's faithful hand was there to catch her. He seemed to take pleasure in helping her, and reminding her quite frequently of her accident with his trapdoor.

When they arrived at the dock, The Phantom helped Madeleine into the boat, and continued their journey towards his lair. They continued in silence, but Madeleine's curoisity overtook her once more, and she gazed in awe at the sculptures and pillars which surrounded them. Slowly they came upon the shore of the Phantom's lair and Madeleine's eyes widened in amazement.

This was no lair; instead it looked like an old palace which was abandoned. An organ sat on a ledge a few feet from the shore, and vairous mirrors, tapestries, and fabrics covered entrances and hidden rooms. Monsieur le Phantom watched from the boat as Madeleine stepped off of the boat and onto the cold stone of his lair.

AN: Sorry it's so short. I'm having a bit of writer's block. Updates are coming soon!


	6. Don't Make Me Go

_She stepped off of his boat, and onto the cold stone of his lair…_

The walls were covered with old tapestries, cracked and carelessly covered mirrors. Parchment, used and blank, was spread out around the organ which sat up two levels from the water. A small pathway was outlined by rows upon rows of candelabras with small, white candles whose wax was dripping steadily onto the damp stone beneath them. Statues, unfinished carvings and paintings were strewn about the rest of the lair. There was an other-worldly feeling to this mysterious place. The faint smell of sandalwood and roses floated from somewhere beyond the face of the Phantom's mysterious world.

The Phantom watched from behind as she slowly made her way through the rows of candles, her hands folded at her breast in fear that her overwhelming curiosity might break this mystical spell which surrounded her. As she climbed the small stairs up toward his organ, she paused, allowing her eyes to take in the mysterious beauty of his lair.

"What do you think?" The Phantom asked, watching her with mild amusement.

"It's amazing…" she breathed, turning to face him. "You made all of this?" He nodded silently. She wandered up the small stairs and up to his swan bed, looking with curiosity through the translucent black curtain. Her hands trailed across the curtain, and over the stone wall beside it. "It seems like something from a fairytale…"

"This certainly is not from any Cinderella story I've heard," The Phantom replied, appearing silently behind her.

"No," she smiled mischievously, turning to face him, "it's like the stories the stage hands used to tell. They were the darker fairytales. The ones where the heroes were defeated and the witches and goblins devoured small children."

"You are like no other ballerina I've come across," he smiled, watching as she wandered over to his organ, allowing her fingers to gently caress the keys. A strange feeling overwhelmed him, taking his breath away for a moment.

"This is yours?" she asked, turning in disbelief. "All of this is yours?"

"Yes," he replied, smiling to himself, "It's been mine since I arrived." Her eyes wandered across the visible areas of his lair. Across from his organ sat the bust of a desolate man. Slowly, she reached her hand out to the bust and touched the deformed half of the statue's face.

"Why do you have this?" she asked curiously, keeping her hand on the bust's cheek as she gazed curiously up to his mask.

"It holds my mask," The Phantom replied "when I do not need to wear it." She nodded silently and turned back to the bust. "Why are you so fascinated by this dungeon?"

"This is no dungeon, this is your home," Madeleine answered, "Only…this place is much more beautiful than the rest."

"The rest?" The Phantom asked, walking slowly up to where she stood.

"Yes," she replied with a smile, "The entire opera house cannot compare to this." The Phantom shook his head in disbelief. Her eyes reached his and locked, drawing from them the curiousity each held for each other.

"Come, night is falling. I will take you back to the dormitories," The Phantom began, but Madeleine's hand landed on his arm, stopping him.

"I don't want to go back up there," she said, holding onto the soft material of the Phantom's jacket. "Please, don't make me go back up there. It's so desolate…and it's so quiet."

"Madamoiselle," he tried, but she stopped him.

"Erik, please," she began… Solomnly, he nodded.


	7. The Phantom's Dungeon

The Phantom's blue eyes were curious. He had not spoken to a person, let alone a woman, for such an amount of time in years save for Madame Giry, and even she made him nervous. Should he invite her to sit? Or maybe she is hungry? She hadn't eaten in a while, she must be hungry, but he was too nervous to speak. Maybe he shouldn't have let her stay…

"Merci, Monsieur," she said, letting her hand slowly drop from his arm. He nodded, adjusting the black gloves on his hands. "Monsieur, would you know the hour?"

"You have been in my dungeon for less than an hour and already you have lost your sense of time," The Phantom replied with a smile. "It is the early evening, Madamoiselle, why?"

"No reason, I was wondering if you wanted to…well…find something to eat," she replied.

"Yes, I'm sorry…I have a small stove in the back if you'd like me to cook you something…"The Phantom offered, directing his hand towards a group of hanigng tapestries.

"I can…if you want…" Madeleine offered with a smile. "Besides, you saved my life twice today, it would be the least I could do."

"What ever you wish, Madamoiselle," The Phantom replied, bowing his head.

"Please, don't call me that," she said shyly. "Come, I will make us something to eat."

Silently, The Phantom led her behind the hanging tapestries and into another candle-lit chamber. It too was made of stone, and had several candleabras about the room. A small stove sat against the wall with a few pieces of wood beside it on the floor.

"There may not be much food here…what ever is here you may have," The Phantom said, opening a small chest which sat beside the stove and gazed helplessly inside.

"There's nothing there…is there?" Madeleine asked, slowly stepping toward him. She lay a gentle hand on his back and he bowed his head in sadness.

"No…naught but a piece of bread," he said, holding it up as an offer to her.

"Then I shall do what I have done almost every night," she suggested, straightening up.

"And what might that be, hunt?" The Phantom asked jokingly.

"Not necessarily." She replied. "There are a few merchants who are cleaning up their wares at this hour. They have apples and other foods that tend to fall off their carts and do not want anymore. I take their spoils for free."

"They just give them to you…for free?" The Phantom asked in curiousity.

"Yes," she smiled. "I used to do this when I was a younger ballerina. Some of the stagehands used to touch us…we gave them our food to keep them away. One night when I was walking down the street, a vendor offered me one of the apples that fell onto the ground. He said it was bruised and that no one would buy it, and gave it to me for free." The Phantom looked up in doubt.

"Are you sure you'll be safe?" he asked, stepping towards her.

"Yes, I'll be fine," she replied.

"But those men…they'll find you," he argued. "Let me come with you."

"Monsieur, I've done this almost every night since I got here." Madeleine smiled. "I'll be alright."

"As you wish, Madamoiselle," The Phantom replied, holding out his hand in respect. "May I escort you to the door?"

"If you'd like," she replied, placing her hand onto his.

"We wouldn't want anymore mishaps, would we?" he teased, bringing her onto the small boat. "Come, I'll lead you safely."

Madeleine smiled; he seemed to be warming up to her. There was definitely something there that she had never seen in him…something in his eyes. He was kind, but very shy. His mask seemed to hide the innocence in his face.

The Phantom docked the boat and made his way up the stairs. Madeleine stood for a moment, staring back at the winding corridors of water that led back to his lair. _No_, she thought, _lair isn't the word for that place…_

"Madamoiselle, are you coming?" The Phantom asked, pulling Madeleine out of her thoughts.

"Yes," she replied, running up to meet him. He smiled, the visible half of his mouth curving into a shy smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly as he took her hand and led her quickly up the stairs until they reached the mirror where she had entered before. The Phantom paused in the center of the room as Madeleine walked out, expecting him to be silently following her. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto a wilted rose which sat on the dresser before a mirror. Slowly, he looked up at the reflection which stared at him from the faded mirror.

"You're still a ghost…" he whispered to his reflection.

"Monsieur?" Madeleine called from the stage, "Monsieur?" Quickly he appeared behind her, gently taking her hand in his. She jumped in fright, and landed straight into his chest, her eyes looking up into his. They stood, frozen in shock. They had never been so close since they had danced that one night.

"I'm…" she began nervously.

"Will you be alright from here…?" he asked suddely, hesitant to move away.

"Yes…" she answered and slowly backed away.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he offered. She turned from the small set of stairs beside the stage to answer.

"I'll be alright," she smiled and dissapeared into the audience.

Erik stood, center stage, watching as the door opened and shut, leaving the opera house in silence.


	8. Please save me

The sun had already set over the streets of Paris, and the merchants, just as Madeleine had said before, were cleaning up their wares. Slowly, she walked down the cobblestone streets, searching for a merchant who appeared harmless. It was those who offered her food. A couple holding hands passed her by, walking quickly to their destination. Their eyes never wavered from their destination. Finally, Madeleine came upon an old merchant who was sitting on the side of the street, holding an old pear in his hands. There were a few tear drops on the fruit, and the man's head was bowed.

"Monsieur…?" Madeleine asked, cautiously trying to see his eyes. "Monsieur…are you alright?"

"Oui," he answered quietly. He dropped the pear to the ground and cupped on hand over his eyes, the other he held still. A quiet sob made his pain known, and Madeleine knelt to see him. A crimson red caught her eye as she gazed at his limp hand. It had scratches and one large cut which leaked the rich crimson.

"Monsieur…your hand, you're hurt!" Madeleine said in surprise. "Let me help you!"

"Non!" he said, pulling his hand to his chest. Slowly he looked up at her, revealing his bruised face.

"You're hurt!" she gasped. "Who did this to you?" She looked around, but the streets were bare.

"I don't know!" he cried. He was an old man whose face had been hit quite a few times. "There were three people; they wanted my food and I told them that if they had no money, then they couldn't have any food. They wouldn't listen, so they beat me and took as much food as they could!"

"Let me help you, Monsieur, please," she tried, holding out her hand. "Please, Monsieur." Silently, he took her hand and stood.

"My cart, Mademoiselle," he began, "it's ruined!"

"Here," she offered, beginning to clean up the torn cloth and bruised fruit. He joined in after wrapping his hand with a spare strip of cloth which came off of his cart. Once it was cleaned up, they leaned it against the wall and covered it in a new cloth.

"Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle," he thanked her, kissing her hand.

"It is no problem," she smiled, helping him into his house. It was empty; he lived alone.

"I have no money to pay you with," he said sadly.

"You need not pay me, Monsieur," she replied.

"At least some food then, you look starved!" he tried again. "Here, I have some chicken and some fruit in here. I'll wrap it up for you." Without another word, he disappeared into another room and appeared a small package wrapped in paper and cloth. "Here, please," he said, handing her the food.

"It's so much, are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes," he smiled, "I have enough."

"Thank you so much!" she smiled back, retreating to the door. "I must be going…I'm sorry."

"Allow me, Mademoiselle, let me escort you home." He said, taking her hand and walking out the door. Slowly, they began walking down the road towards the opera house.

"You really don't have to do this," Madeleine said, pausing to face him. What would he say when she stopped at the opera house?

"It is late, Mademoiselle, and the streets aren't very safe this late. What were you doing out by yourself?" he asked.

"I was looking for food…" she replied.

"But so late?" he asked again.

"I've been exiled to the opera house…" she admitted. "I was a ballerina there, and my husband accused me of being part of the 'Opera Ghost scheme.'"

"Mon Dieu…" he replied. "No wonder you seem so starved."

"Please, Monsieur, if you see anyone, I was never here." Madeleine said. "I'll be dead if they see me on the streets."

"Come," the old man nodded, "I will bring you back to the opera house."

"Thank you, Monsieur," she replied, and they began down the street at a quicker pace. The streets were silent, and the sun had yet to rise, but just as they approached the stairs of the opera house, a quiet chatter caught their attention.

Three or four men walked out of a bar, followed by the bartend who shut the door and latched it shut behind them. Each man had a woman on his arm who held on tightly as if the few Francs they would earn were worth the trouble. A familiar laugh caught her attention and she froze, peering over her shoulder at the couple behind them. One man stood with a whore on his hip, kissing and touching her tauntingly.

"Monsieur," she said, turning away from the pair behind them, "we must go." He nodded quickly and continued quickly beside her. "That man was my husband." The old man took his turn to peer behind him.

"Come then, we shall hurry." The opera house wasn't very far away now; they were almost at the stairs, but their progress was stopped, by an arm snaking around her waist and a voice whispering into her ear.

"Bonjour, mon cher…" the stranger whispered into her ear.

"Excuse me, Monsieur," the old man began, "but you are interrupting our evening walk." The stranger laughed and shoved the old man out of his way.

"How sweet, you've returned to me." The man said, stepping in front of Madeleine. Her view of the opera house was blocked.

"I would never do such a thing." Madeleine replied, "I much prefer living in exile than spending any measure of time with you." At this, she began to walk around him, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. The old man pushed his arm away and separated Madeleine from her husband.

"Leave the young lady alone," the old man said in defense.

"Shut up, old man," he spat, whipping his fist across the old man's face. He fell to the ground weakly.

"How dare you!" Madeleine gasped, stepping toward the old man, but her husband stopped her, grasping her arm tightly as he pulled her toward him. The food in her arms fell to the ground, scattering about the dirty street. He pulled her up to him, his other hand latching onto the back of her hair.

"How dare I?" her husband laughed. She looked over at the old man who lay unconscious in the street. There was no one else around, and even if she cried for help, no one would answer. "I'm going to do what I should have done months ago," he grinned, pushing her toward the alleyway that separated the opera house from the building beside it. His grip loosened as he shoved her, allowing her to take a chance and run toward the doors of the opera house, but he pulled her back by the hair, throwing her down onto the ground. He continued on, pulling her deeper into the alley until there was barely any light for her to see.

"Stop it!" she shouted, trying to shove him away, but he wouldn't let go. "I didn't do anything!"

"You killed all of them!" he argued, "You and those others started that fire and killed everyone!"

"I didn't!" she argued back, struggling to push him away, but he managed to pull her so far back that there was no hope in anyone helping her. She kicked and pushed, but he was stronger than her. Beneath her, the ground was rough with stones which scraped her arms and legs as she struggled. She could already feel the bruises forming on her arms.

"Damn-it!" he growled as she pulled away from his grasp, but she was only halfway up when he caught her and threw her back to the ground, climbing on top of her with one of his hands holding both of hers above her head.

"I didn't start that fire!" she cried. "I almost died in it!"

"You killed all of them!" he growled. "You killed my brothers and the woman I loved!"

"I killed your mistress!" she argued. "I was supposed to be the woman you loved, but I guess I wasn't good enough! That whore of a mistress died in that fire and as much as I wish I did, I had nothing to do with it!"

"Shut-up!" he shouted, whipping his fist across her face.

"Ow!" she cried out in pain, "let me up!"

"You killed them!" he growled again, his eyes full of fire.

"Please!" she cried, but his fist whipped across her face again, leaving another stinging cut from his wedding band.

"You'll get what you deserve…" he began, gripping his free hand over her throat, "what I should have done months ago…"

"Stop it, please!" she cried out again, kicking her legs and squirming as much as she could, but no matter what she did, his weight overpowered her. She felt a weight lift off of her arms as more was pressed on her throat, and she pulled her arms out of his grip. His other fist whipped across her face, and she turned her head weakly, letting it rest on the cool stone beneath her. Her vision blurred, and her eyes traced the wall of the opera house, stopping at a small window behind her husband. For a moment, she thought it was because she was losing consciousness, but then she realized that the faint white she saw in the window was the mask she had yet to understand.

Her husband's voice faded back into her ears as another blow whipped across her face. He paused, his heaving breathing growing more and more full of anger. Then, something touched her throat. Before a moment could pass, Madeleine looked back up at her husband, just as his hands wrapped around her neck. She reached out her arms, but they were too small to reach anything past his elbows. Her eyes opened wide as she gasped for air, gripping onto his wrists weakly. Her eyes traced back to the window where the white mask still rested, watching helplessly. Spots began to cloud her eyes, as her grip grew weaker on his hands.

"Please…help…me…" she struggled to say, staring straight at the window. The white mask disappeared and her eyes returned to her husband who still stayed there, his arms pulsing with anger as he strangled her.

The white mask returned above her husband, wielding a noose which it pulled over her husband's neck, dragging him back and away from her. Her eyes shut as the Phantom threw her husband onto the ground, pulling the noose taught around his neck. One black boot landed on the man's chest, acting as leverage when he pulled the noose tighter.

His eyes were too full of terror for any last words before he stopped breathing and fell limp beneath the Phantom's foot. He moved his boot to the man's throat and twisted, sounding out an ugly _crack_ from his neck. Now, there was no doubt that he was dead.

The Phantom dropped the noose and knelt down beside Madeleine. With his bare hand, he touched one of the cuts on her cheek, pulling back with her blood on his fingers.

"What have I done?" he asked himself. Gently, he picked her up and ventured back into the opera house.

A/N: the only thing I can say…is :)


	9. You Thank a Murderer?

Madeleine was easy to carry; she was a thinly built ballerina, and she hadn't eaten in days. The food, The Phantom remembered; that's why she left the opera house, and he let her go alone. The Phantom shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind and concentrated on bringing her to a safer place. He weaved through the tunnels and turned a few corners to reach one of the wings of the stage. Cutting across the dusty wooden floor, he looked out at the audience for a moment.

"What have I done?" he sighed to himself again. But there was no time for his sadness now; Madeleine was in his arms, and he was the only one she had now.

He weaved his way through the backstage area and down the hallway, pausing at the dormitories. This is, after all, where she lived, he thought, but there were barely any blankets on her bed, and it seemed as if the frame were about to collapse from its own weight. Madeleine stirred in his arms, and he looked down at her bruised face. Slowly, her hand reached up to his chest, grasping his overcoat.

"It's alright, Madeleine, you're safe now," he whispered. After a moment, her hand relaxed, staying intently on his chest. He took one last look at the dormitory and turned to make his way down to his lair.

The mirror was still open slightly, and with the utmost caution, he maneuvered into the hallway, keeping Madeleine away from the wall. He made his way quickly through the corridor and down the stairs until he reached the boat. Gently, he laid her down onto the rich red pillows which hid the ugliness of the wooden boat and pushed off, guiding them slowly down the river.

She stirred once again, this time turning her head as if she was slowly waking up. Quickly, but gently, The Phantom lifted her up from the boat when they had docked and carried her up the stairs towards his swan bed, pausing when he gazed down at the red velvet sheets. This would not be the first time he had let a beautiful girl into his bed.

A familiar face flashed into his eyes and he pushed back the memory and locked it away. It was done now. The fire had ended it all.

He laid Madeleine down onto the bed, covering her in the velvet sheets. She stirred again, but still didn't wake. The Phantom stood awkwardly beside the bed, watching her calm face in unconscious sleep. Bruises had formed on her face around the cuts made from the man's knuckles and ring. His handprints were engraved in bruises around her neck from where he had tried to kill her. His heart sank.

"I can't believe I let this happen to you." He said, grasping onto the wing of the swan. A moment passed; the lair was silent, and The Phantom turned away and disappeared into another room. He returned with a cloth that was damp with a little water on one end. He sat beside her and carefully began to clean the dirt and dried blood from her face. She flinched slightly a few times, turning her head in discomfort, but still didn't wake up.

After a few moments, The Phantom's lip curved, almost like a smile. His blue eyes traced her bruised face and sighed. The guilt was outweighing every other murder he had committed in the opera house. He let her go out on her own, and when he heard her shouting from the alley and saw that man on top of her, he froze. For the first time in his life, The Phantom froze in fear. They were, after all, very similar.

Slowly, he turned away, leaving the cloth on a small stand near the bed, and lowered the translucent curtain around the bed. She deserved some privacy, he thought, it wasn't right of him to watch her. With the curtain closed, he wandered over to his organ, his hand resting where hers had when she stood in amazement at his lair.

"I let her go out by herself," he said, scolding himself. "The streets are no longer safe, even in daylight. What a fool!"

The Phantom turned from his organ and was faced by his reflection. He stood, staring himself in the eyes. Slowly, his ungloved hand reached up, touching his mask.

"You will never be able to live like a human, will you?" he asked himself, analyzing every aspect of his reflection. Quickly he pulled the tapestry over the mirror, banishing his reflection from his sight. He sat down at his organ and placed his hands on the keys, and began to play.

The song was not a loud opera or even an aria; he played a quiet lullaby he had never known existed. There was no name or any sheet music for it; he played it from the sight of Madeleine asleep in his bed. The soft notes and chords echoed through his lair, traveling through the tunnels and up into the rest of the opera house. It floated through the black curtain and into Madeleine's dreams.

Behind him and in the privacy of the black curtain, Madeleine stirred. Her hand traveled up to her throat, and her face tensed. Slowly, she began to wake up. She had a small ache in her head, but the music emanating around her soothed the ache and her anxieties. Who was playing that, she thought, I've never heard such a song. She turned her head, loosening her tense muscles and opened her eyes.

Behind the black curtain, The Phantom's lair seemed like another world. The curtain separated her from everything; she was surrounded and felt safe. The soft cotton and velvet sheets were gently strewn across her, and even her curiosity couldn't will her to leave their warmth and comfort. The playing continued, pulling her back into a dream-like trance. Her eyes found the faint image of a figure at the organ, moving with the music. It must have been him, she thought. The last thing she remembered was her husband's angry face.

Slowly, she left the comfort of the swan bed and stood, facing the black curtain shyly. She placed her hand on the soft material and found the seam where she could walk past it and into the other world of The Phantom's lair. The small slippers on her feet were wet from the streets and she slid them off, placing them against a wall to dry. Her bare feet tingled at the cold from the stone floor, but she paid it no mind. She was much too busy with her fascination towards the man at the organ. His black cloak was strewn onto the bust which was made to hold his mask and the tapestries along the walls had moved somehow.

She stood a few feet behind him, watching as he played, moving with the crescendos of the music. Suddenly, he paused, his hands still frozen above the keys. Madeleine watched silently, folding her hands in front of her stomach.

"I'm sorry," he said, still watching the organ, "did I wake you?"

"No," she replied quietly.

They both stood in silence, waiting for the other to speak.

"Thank you," she said, breaking the silence.

"For what?" he asked. Slowly she stepped toward him, pausing a slight distance away.

"You saved me," she answered.

"I did nothing of the sort," he replied.

"You scared him away," she said, stepping towards him again, "how did you do it?"

"I didn't scare anyone away," he said, looking up at her.

"Yes you did, you scared him away, you saved me from my husband," she said, looking into his blue eyes. The Phantom paused.

"That man…he was your husband?" The Phantom asked.

"Yes," she replied, slightly ashamed. "He was the one who attacked me." The Phantom didn't answer. "I saw you there. You were in the window. You came out and pulled him away."

"I pulled him away, yes, but I didn't scare him away." Madeleine paused.

"If you didn't scare him away, what did you do?" she asked.

"You need not worry about him anymore," The Phantom replied, walking past her and towards the other rooms behind the tapestries. Madeleine turned in surprise. She understood The Phantom's reputation for a pitiless punishment, but she had never imagined that her own husband would be murdered by the man who took her in. She turned and quickly chased after him, grasping onto his shoulder. He turned to face her, allowing her hand to fall. She pulled her hand back in surprise, cupping them over her chest as she watched The Phantom's face change.

"My husband…" she began, but The Phantom interrupted her.

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I killed your husband," he spat angrily. "He is dead and gone now, and you need to accept that." Tears fell silently down her cheeks as they stared at each other in silence.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she breathed.

"You cry and yet you thank me," The Phantom said, "You thank a murderer?"

"I cry because I am no longer bound to that monster," Madeleine replied.

"You are free then," The Phantom said, "There is no danger outside of this opera house for you." He bowed his head and continued into the hidden rooms.


	10. Departure and Acception

The opera house was silent. Erik had escorted her as far as the dormitories and seemed to disappear into thin air from there. This silence was different than all of the others she had encountered before. The air was still and felt as though it refused to enter her lungs. Erik's watchful eyes usually followed her as she wandered the opera house, but this time she felt completely alone. He had gone, and truly left her.

She reached the main doors after a few minutes of descending the steps of the entranceway. Her hands rested on the large handles, but something willed her not to pull them open. This was her home, her shelter of the past. The Phantom did say that there was no threat for her now in the streets. She was free to go, but did she want to be free? Unconsciously, she pulled open the door and stepped outside onto the cobblestone streets.

It was early; around seven, but many shop keepers had opened their stores and carts, ready to attract the many passersby. Her pointe shoes weren't much protection against the rocky ground, but they were better than nothing. The fresh air filled her lungs as she took many deep breathes, looking curiously at the awakening of the town.

_The old man,_ she thought,_ I must see if he is alright_. Intent on her mission, she followed the road straight to where the old man had sold his fruit. His cart was still behind the white cloth, but he was nowhere to be seen. His door was shut and his curtains hid the interior of his home. The only sign of life was the faint glow of a candle behind the window. Quietly, she knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

"Who is it?" came an old voice from behind the wooden door.

"Monsieur, it is me, Madeleine," she replied.

"I have no relations to any _Madeleine_," he answered.

"Monsieur, you helped me home last night," she continued, hoping he would remember, "I came to see if you were alright." He did not respond. Madeleine waited silently until she figured that he would not answer. Slowly, she turned and stepped back into the street.

"Wait!" he called behind her, "I am so sorry, Mademoiselle."

"Monsieur," she began but he stopped her.

"Please, come inside!" he smiled, holding the door open. She smiled in return and entered.

"I didn't mean to intrude; I just wanted to make sure that you were alright." Madeleine began. "I'm so sorry you were involved."

"Mademoiselle," the old man interrupted, "please, everything is alright. I'm just grateful that you are safe. You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, Monsieur," Madeleine smiled.

"Good. That man was trouble. He's not around, is he?," he asked, peering out the small curtain.

"No, Monsieur." Madeleine replied, "He is long gone now."

"Good." He smiled. "Now, I'm not one for formalities. Please, call me Jacques."

"And you may call me Madeleine." She smiled.

"Alright, well Madeleine, I was about to have something to eat, would you like something?" He asked, leading her into a small kitchen.

"No thank you," Madeleine replied, but Jacques shook his head.

"You look like you haven't eaten in days, Madeleine, and I know that the food I gave you was not eaten." Jacques argued. "Please, at least take some fruit." Madeleine nodded.

A small table and two chairs were in the kitchen beside a little stove and an ice box. Jacques brought a small plate of fruit and some bread to the table and invited Madeleine to sit down. They ate in silence. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the food touched her mouth. Her stomach growled profusely as she ate her piece of bread and an apple.

"Thank you, monsieur," she said with a smile. He smiled back and nodded his mouth still full of his bread.

"If I had known you were coming I would have prepared something," he apologized as he looked down at the empty plate.

"Please, monsieur, there is no reason to prepare anything special for me," Madeleine said, "I feel horrible enough intruding on you again. I just hope nothing bad comes of it this time." Jacques smiled and took her hand.

"Everything will be alright," he smiled. "You are always welcome in this house."

VvVvVvVvV

Sorry about the long wait! I'll be sure to update as soon as I can!


	11. Once Upon a Dream

The streets of Paris grew quiet as night began to fall. Shop owners turned in for the night, cleaning up their carts and stands and disappearing into their small homes. The opera house was no exception to this. It had been quiet since the sun had risen save for The Phantom's quiet movements as he gathered the unused parchment from the floor and placed it gently in the seat of his organ bench. Erik had spent the day searching the opera house for any useful paper, especially those with music staffs.

He had procured an acceptable amount of food to hold him over for the next few days as he usually did in his secret manner, but he would have to eat sparingly. This was no change for him; he always ate little and worked in great amounts.

Darkness had fallen, leaving the streets in darkness. Erik could feel night coming on; his internal clock was more attuned than many others'. He had no desire to sleep, only to work. Ever since Madeleine had returned to the outside world, the opera house was back to its original silence and emptiness.

The Phantom worked for another three hours, collecting all of the stray glass particles from the mirror he had shattered after the fire. The passage was covered by a large, red tapestry that hung from the other mirrors. His eyes traced the dim outline of the small hallway, weighing his options for the future.

There was no longer any purpose to the opera house; it was only a skeleton holding broken dreams and memories of those who preformed in it. The Opera Populair may not reside in the beautiful Paris for much longer. After all, factories were beginning to sprout in many other towns, as Erik had heard while searching for food.

It was time to turn in. His light blue eyes could no longer concentrate on the sheet music he was trying to compose, so he removed his mask, placing it on the bust, and made his way toward the swan bed. The black curtain closed, and silently, Erik began to undress, folding his white shirt beside the bed on top of his black boots. A slight shiver ran down his spine as he climbed into the velvet and silk red sheets, causing his solid chest to ripple. After a few moments, his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

The sheets, though soft and comfortable, gave him no comfort. He slept restlessly, tossing and turning as the night passed. When sunrise came, he could feel it, and opened his eyes to begin another day. He yawned and rose, pulling the chord to open the black curtain and froze, covering the deformed half of his face with his right hand.

Before the bust stood Madeleine, gazing down at the pure white mask in her hands. She stroked it with her finger and looked up at him. A small, timid smile grew on her lips as they gazed at each other, the mask resting gently in her hands. She was wearing the white petticoat she had worn the day she was cornered in the opera house, her feet bare and her long, brown hair fell in messy locks down her back and shoulders.

Slowly, The Phantom stepped toward her, his hand still covering his face.

"Madeleine," he began, "you've returned?"

"Yes," she replied, "I wanted to make sure you were alright." He paused, watching curiously as she stepped toward him, removing his hand and replacing it with his mask. Her hand lingered on his mask, her eyes curiously tracing its curves and the lines of his fine skin on the other side.

"How are you feeling?" Erik asked, suddenly feeling self conscious. He had just realized that his shirt was folded beside his swan bed. Madeleine's gaze moved from his mask to his chest, and back, her eyes wider than they were before. She hadn't realized that he was so exposed.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered nervously.

"No," Erik interrupted, "I'm sorry for being so informal." Quickly he turned to retrieve his shirt, but a hand on his bare arm stopped him.

"It's alright," Madeleine said as he turned to face her again. She was much closer now; their chests were barely touching. Neither moved; they only gazed into each other's eyes nervously.

Slowly, he reached down, cupping the side of her face in his hand. His thumb caressed her cheek as they stood in silence, both frozen in place. Something took over his mind and clouded his judgment, leaving only raw emotions. Without a second thought he leaned down, allowing their lips to gently collide. Her hand moved up to his arm, holding him in their embrace. After a moment, he pulled back slowly, gazing into her eyes.

Quickly, Erik sat up in his bed and looked around.

His lair was empty as it had been when he had fallen asleep. Madeleine was in the outside world, he knew that, but for some reason he couldn't explain, he wished she would return to his solitary confinement and allow him to play the lovely lullaby he had played before.

Once again, Erik was alone.


	12. It's Hard to Say

"Come inside, Madeleine," Jacques called, peering out into the cold street. Madeleine nodded in agreement and covered the cart, following him inside. Slowly, she began to shed her layers of thin wool coats. When she had finally taken her coats off, she was left in a long, wool dress that covered her arms and up to her neck. It was one of Jacques' wife's old dresses she had left behind years ago when she had passed. Madeleine had expected him to be sad, but he seemed quite happy to see her wearing the dresses. They were, after all, incredibly warm.

"I think its time to turn in the cart for the season," Madeleine said, sitting by the small fireplace. "It is getting so cold outside and I fear the fruit may die."

"Hm," he nodded in agreement. Slowly he sat down beside her, slumping his shoulders and looking down at the floor. "Madeleine…"

"Yes?" she asked cautiously, looking at him in worry.

"I've been putting off telling you this," he began sadly, "we've been asked to leave…"

"Leave?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, looking up at her. "They plan to put a factory here and want us out by the day after tomorrow. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I've been hoping to find some sort of solution."

"Jacques," Madeleine began, placing her hand on his shoulder. She wasn't sure how to respond to this; she had nowhere to go and wasn't too sure if he had anyplace as well. "Where will you go?"

"Me!" he laughed, throwing his head back. "Me? You hear this news and ask about me?"

"Yes…" she answered, looking in confusion at him. She knew she had nowhere to go, but she didn't want to think about that just yet.

"I've got a daughter a few towns south from here, Madeleine," he said reassuringly, "It's you I'm so worried for. I mean, you're more than welcome to join us, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. I've written her and she's happy to have you!"

"Well…" she said, sitting back in her chair thoughtfully, "I…"

"I've been to forward, Madeleine," he said in apology. "If there is another place you have, please, do not feel so obligated to come."

"Jacques…" Madeleine said, taking his hand again, "I've got no…" She paused, remembering the one place she still had. But could she return? Or was her stay only temporary? Would he allow her back?

"What is it?"

"I've got one place," she replied, "but I'm not too sure of it…"

"You mean…"

"Yes," she replied.

"Alone?"

"No," she answered, "I don't think so." She rose quickly, looking out the small window. "I've got to see… There isn't much time until you go."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No, but there's only one way to find out." She took his hand, kneeling before him with a smile. "Thank you, Jacques. You've been so kind to me. I've no way to repay you."

"Madeleine," he sighed, "you owe me nothing. Go, find what you need to find." She rose, pulling on one of the wool coats and a scarf as she headed to the door.

"It's not a what, it's a who." She said, and flew out of the small home with a smile.

The streets were still cold as the night grew darker. Her footsteps grew faster as she grew colder, hurrying toward the large set of steps, the tall columns, and the huge doors of the empty opera house. Quietly, she pulled the door ajar and snuck through, hearing the door close behind her.

The opera house was silent.

But why wouldn't it be? He was always in his beautiful lair… Erik always called it a lair. Madeleine gazed up at the large staircases and dusty and ruined statues. The mirrors still lined the walls, but they too were covered in dust. Slowly, she made her way up the stairway and into the theatre, searching and finding a lantern that would still light. It was dim, but it illuminated the theatre enough for her to see.

She moved through the theatre, passing through the audience and finding her way to the orchestra pit. There, sat the small record player they had danced to months ago. Her hand grazed the record, drawing a small line in the dust as she remembered his gentle hands, leading her in the dance. She smiled to herself and continued to the back of the pit where a small set of escape stairs sat beneath a trap door. This was how she made her way up onto the stage.

Madeleine took in the sight of the home she had always known. In her mind, she could still see the audience, dressed in their beautiful clothes and jewels, applauding the ballets and arias. It seemed as if the small flames would illuminate the stage when she opened her eyes, but the only light she had was the small lantern in her hands.

"Erik?" she called quietly, her voice seeming to refuse to work. There was no answer. The silence engulfed her and she turned, making her way backstage and to the dormitories. She passed the small rooms and finally made it to the single room where Ms. Daae had slept. The same damp breeze blew from the gap behind the mirror and she shivered the cool air wrapped around her.

She gasped loudly as a mouse trampled over her feet and laughed at her own silliness. _Come on, Madeleine, it's a mouse_, she scolded.

"Monsieur?" she called again, her voice louder than before. It seemed to echo through the emptiness of the corridors and disappear to the place where echoes went. There was no answer once again. "I don't think I can make my way down those stairs again, especially by myself." With this decision, she turned toward the prop rooms, hoping for something.

As she made her way down the same stairs she had fallen down the first time she came, she smiled at the memory, making sure not to fall once again. She rummaged through the props and costumes as she did before and found another pair of pointe shoes. A smile overcame her face and she carried them with her as she made her way back to the stage.

"It seems I can't make myself part with you, can I?" she smiled to herself as she sat down, placing the lantern beside her. "He'll come up sooner or later, and I've got all day tomorrow as well." She smiled again, removing her boots and sliding the pointe shoes onto her feet.

"Oh, I've missed you," she smiled, standing up on her toes. "Uh…" she grimaced, "It seems I've been out of practice much too long." Her toes ached, but after a few moments, she was able to bear it again. Madeleine danced across the stage, smiling and laughing to herself as she spun and stepped, balancing on her toes.

"I wasn't aware we were doing a wintertime ballet," a voice echoed through the stage, making her stop mid-twirl and fall, right on her bottom. "Still graceful, I see."

"So you did hear me…" she sighed as she began to unwrap the laces of her shoes.

"So I've arrived and you're leaving already?" the Phantom's voice questioned.

"Leaving…" That's when reality struck her hard.

"Yes… you've come for more pointe shoes I assume?" he asked, still remaining in a mysterious hiding place.

"Not for pointe shoes… no." Madeleine sighed, replacing her footwear.

"So what have you come for? Perhaps another dance?" He continued to play.

"Monsieur," Madeleine chided, "It's much easier to speak to someone I can actually see."

"Then I'll no longer be _Phantom_, as they have so cleverly named me." he replied with a little laugh. She stood. "Better?" Madeleine jumped, turning to face the masked man who seemed to materialize behind her. "Haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"It seems you haven't changed as well," Madeleine laughed, smoothing her dress.

"Now, will you answer my question?" he asked, the unmasked side of his face grinning curiously.

"Well…" she began, turning away from him. "I've moved with that gentleman who helped me that night…" It seemed it was harder to say this than she thought.

"Yes," the Phantom nodded, stepping back into her line of sight. "He has treated you well I hope?"

"Very well…" she replied with a nod, turning again.

"Oh you haven't fallen for an old man, have you?" he grinned.

"No! It's just…"

"Yes?" He stepped back into her line of sight and she dropped her head, feeling the anxiety she hadn't expected.

"Well… they've asked us to leave the house. A factory is to be constructed there."

"So you've come to say goodbye?" he asked quietly. This time, he didn't step back into her line of sight.

"I'm not sure." she replied. "Monsieur… I've…"

"Madeleine," he said, pushing her chin up to meet his eyes, "What is wrong?"

"He's offered me to go with him, but…"

"Yes?"

"I can't bring myself to leave Paris…" she answered. "But I've got nowhere to go and…"

"Yes?"

"Monsieur, I'd like to come live here again…" she asked timidly, hoping for a pleasant answer. He laughed at her question.

"Is that all?" he asked and she nodded. "I was afraid I would have to rescue you from another low-life chasing your beauty!"

"Erik!" she said, pushing him back with a smile.

"I was wondering what happened to the Madeleine I remember," he smiled.

"Monsieur?"

"Mademoiselle, this opera house is as much mine as it is yours." He said with an elegant bow.

"Oh merci!" she gasped, throwing her arms around him. He laughed, stumbling back from her weight. "Monsieur…" she began, noticing his unusually happy speech.

"Oui?"

"Have you been drinking spirits?" she asked, leaning into him, smelling the sharp smell of alcohol.

Her answer was a slight grin.


	13. Feeling Playful

_Her answer was a slight grin_.

"You disapprove then?" The Phantom's grin faded as he examined her closely. His eyes were slightly glossed, but still competent; he did not seem to have drank very much.

"I'm shocked," Madeleine laughed, putting her hand to her heart. "Joseph Buquet, I would expect, but you, Monsieur?"

"I've barely had a sip, Mademoiselle," He smiled. "No need to be worried; I can still maneuver my labyrinth. Your faithful Ghost will remain unharmed." The Phantom bowed, extending his hand with a grin. Madeleine took his hand and curtsied with a quiet giggle. As she rose, the Opera House shook as a boom of thunder shook its walls. The cool scent of rain began to seep through the thin wood, filling the theatre with its dampness.

"Oh my," Madeleine said, looking up at the ceiling instinctively.

"Are you to be staying then?" The Monsieur asked, keeping hold of her hand.

"I don't wish to intrude, Monsieur," she replied, pulling her hand away, but he kept it, placing his other hand over hers. The leather was cool on her skin.

"Your company, Madeleine, is never intrusive." Madeleine looked up at him, his eyes gazing into hers.

"I'm sure I can find some room in the dormitories," she replied, watching curiously as his lips gently turned to a frown.

"If a drafty, rusty room is what you desire, then be my guest, but I've a fire going downstairs if you desire a warm night." The Phantom's lips turned into a grin, his eyes flickering with mystery.

"Monsieur," Madeleine sighed, "are you sure?" He nodded in reply with a smile. "What are you hiding?" She asked with a smile.

"This rum has me feeling a bit...playful... actually." Erik smiled.

"I'm not going to end up in your noose, I hope," Madeleine asked curiously.

"You have my word, no harm will come to you," Erik bowed again, returning upright with a smile.

"What is it I must do, then?"

"Follow me," Erik grinned, dropping one of his hands as he lead her across the stage and toward the wall covered by the wing curtains. "Do you remember the night we performed _Faust_ and Carlotta chided one of the ballerinas because they bumped into one another?"

"Vividly," she replied as they approached the curtains, "that ballerina bumped into her on purpose."

"What a kind young lady," Erik smiled.

"Thank you," Madeleine smiled in return. "It was quite fun I must admit."

"I enjoyed it, personally," Erik smiled. "That night, I detonated the trap door without having to approach the pit. This is how I shall lead you to my humble lair." He lifted the wing curtain and pulled her through the dark until they found the small opening in the wall. "You should crouch down a bit, watch your head."

Madeleine followed him through the pitch darkness of the small hallway until he pulled her upright. They walked in silence, descending a small set of stairs and emerged into the large stairwell, dimly lit by a distant lamp. Erik glanced back at her and grinned. As they moved down the stairs, Erik dropped her hand and disappeared behind the wall into the darkness.

"This seems all too familiar," Madeleine laughed, stepping toward the darkness. "I remember that fall I took not too long ago, Monsieur."

"Madeleine," his voice emerged from the darkness. "That trap," he said as a loud click echoed around them, "is disabled." She could hear the smile in his voice. Madeleine hesitated for a moment until his gloved hand emerged from the darkness. "I can lead you back up to the dormitories if you so desire..." Madeleine took a breath and grasped his hand, stepping into the darkness. His steps were silent as if he were truly a ghost.

"Are you still here, Monsieur?" Madeleine asked, grasping his hand with both of hers.

"You have my hand, do you not?" He replied, his voice echoing all around her.

"I hear my steps, but yours are absent." Erik laughed in reply, enveloping her in sound.

"This, cher, is why I am the Opera Ghost." His hand grasped hers tightly for a moment, assuring her of his presence. She laughed nervously in reply, holding his hand tightly. "You find no comfort in darkness, Madeleine?"

"Not very much, no," she replied. "I prefer a bit of light to help me see."

"I promised no harm would come to you, did I not?" he asked, leading her further into the darkness.

"Yes," she smiled to herself. Suddenly, he pulled her down a corridor to the left which seemed to tilt downward. They were descending quickly as their speed increased, moving rapidly down stairs and turning sharply down new corridors. Finally, they emerged into a small stairway that was dimly lit by a hidden lantern. Madeleine sighed in relief, reaching up to rub her slowly adjusting eyes. A moment later, she opened her eyes again and looked around at the empty corridor. "Monsieur?" she called, knowing he was waiting to trick her.

"Yes?" Madeleine looked around, but his voice gave no hint of where he was hiding. She laughed, placing her hands on her hips. "Do you enjoy confusing me?" She asked playfully; it seemed to be contagious tonight.

"Very much," he replied, his warm breath grazing the back of her neck. Quickly she turned, but he was gone.

"Monsieur," she replied, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

"Yes?" his silky voice replied as his glove gently brushed her hand. Madeleine had no answer except a smile. Truthfully, she enjoyed his taunting and the gentle touches he teased her with. He always made the adrenaline in her body rush.

"I can smell the fire you're burning," she replied, "are we getting close?"

"We are," he replied, his voice now echoing from behind her. She turned quickly and was faced with another dim corridor. "Follow me." Madeleine smiled, enjoying his game of chase and made her way down the corridor, speeding up as the smell of the burning wood grew stronger. "You're enjoying yourself, I hope?" His voice came from her right side, directly in her ear.

"Ah!" she gasped, jumping back against the opposite wall. "Yes," she replied with a laugh as she rested her head back against the wall, catching her breath. "Yes, I am."

"Good." The voice now came from behind her, making her jump back into the center of the corridor. Madeleine laughed as she continued her way toward the burning wood. After a few minutes of silence, she emerged into a familiar stairway.

"I do hope the boat is there," Madeleine said, approaching the small dock. There, waiting patiently for her, was the Phantom, standing elegantly in the small gondolier, holding it in place with the long staff.

"It's here," he smiled, holding out his hand for her. She smiled, a blush coming to her cheeks as she took his hand and sat down onto the red velvet fabric and pillows. Behind her, the Phantom pushed the boat from the dock and began their sail toward his lair. The boat ride was silent as he pushed them down a thinner part of the river, closed in on both sides by two stone walls. Stairs emerged from the water in various places, leading off to mysterious places shaded by darkness.

"I hope you've enjoyed my game," The Phantom began, looking down at her. Madeleine turned, sitting back against the opposite side of the boat to face him.

"I have," Madeleine smiled. "You?"

"Very much," he replied, looking back out toward their destination.

"Will you ever tell me how you manage to move so silently through these corridors?" Madeleine asked, leaning back on the red pillows. The unmasked side of his lips grinned as he laughed, echoing his voice through the numerous halls.

"I don't think so," he replied, "not unless there is to be another Phantom in my midst." She smiled, laying back in the comfortable pillows. Her eyes shut as the gentle rocking of the boat calmed her heart and brought her breath back to a slower rhythm. The Phantom began quietly humming a slow tune that seemed to hypnotize her.

His cool leather glove carefully touched her cheek, gently rousing her. Madeleine opened her eyes and smiled at the cool, blue eyes that faced her. Erik smiled in return, leaving his open hand on her cheek for an extra moment. Slowly he held out his hand, which she took, and they stood, stepping off the boat and onto the stone floor.

The fragrant smell of the wood filled his lair, bringing warmth to every inch of her body. She stepped further into his home, approaching the massive organ surrounded by rows of candelabras. The scent of wood grew stronger as she made her way through the maze of candles and toward the concealed bed.

"Your home never ceases to amaze me," Madeleine smiled, gazing at the tapestries surrounding her.

"I've never thought of this as a home before," Erik replied, placing his hand on her back. "Shall we retreat to the fire?"

"I was hoping to do so," she replied, "but I can't seem to find it. It seems I've a lot to learn about your secret rooms."

"It seems so," he smiled, lifting the tapestry beside the bed to reveal a medium sized fireplace and a large bed seated before the fire.

"I thought you slept there," she said, pointing toward the swan bed.

"Only during the warm months," he replied. "I construct this so I can sleep in the warmth." Madeleline nodded in understanding as she moved toward the fire. Gently she removed her coat, placing it on the floor in front of the fire and sat down, hovering her hands toward the warmth. Quietly, they removed their shoes and placed them by the fire.

"If there is any good in winter," Madeleine began as the Phantom sat beside her, "it is the warmth of burning wood." Erik nodded in agreement, sitting slightly behind her. Gently, he untied his cape and draped it over both of their shoulders. Madeleine looked over at him, taken by surprise at his gesture.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his right arm leaning placed behind her.

"Monsieur, I don't expect you to make any special accommodations for me." Madeleine began, but he reached out to take her hand.

"Madeleine," he began, looking down into her eyes, "This Opera House is your home now, as is my lair." They both smiled at his word choice.

"Monsieur-"

"Erik."

Madeleine paused. He had been using her name, and speaking it comfortably, for some time now. Why hadn't she?

"Erik." Madeleine said, smiling as his name passed her lips. Not many had the privilege of knowing his true name, the name of the man behind the mask. "Erik... I don't want you to give up your lodgings for me. I can manage and make with what I have." He didn't respond, and she accepted the silence.

Enveloped in his cape, she could feel the warmth radiating from his body that was barely inches away. Slowly, he brought his left hand up to her cheek, cupping her face gently as he leaned in toward her lips. Their eyes shut as their lips made contact, sending waves of heat through their bodies. Madeleine reached her hand up to touch his face, gently finding his cool, unmasked skin beneath her fingers. As her fingers touched his skin, he pulled back for a moment, his eyes opening at the unexpected touch.

"I'm...I am so sorry," The Phantom said, unwillingly pulling his hand from her cheek, but Madeleine stopped him, bringing his hand into hers. Slowly she pulled off his glove, being sure to pull each finger so the glove wold slide off smoothly. His hand exposed, Madeleine placed the glove beside her and brought his hand back to her cheek. The touch of his warm skin against her cool cheek sent a shiver through her skin.

"Do not be sorry," she replied, bringing her hand back up to his face. With her other hand, she reached up to his mask, slowly letting her fingers make contact with its cool surface. He turned his head, making her hand move away from his mask, but she turned him back. "I won't remove it unless you want me to." She began. "I just want to touch it." Both of her hands now explored the two sides of his face; one hand tracing this cheek bones, the creases beneath his eyes, and his lips, while the other traced the symmetrical features of the cool mask. As she did this, he quickly removed his other glove and seized her in his hands, his fingers intertwining in her hair.

He pulled her in, thrusting his lips against hers as she held tightly to his face, moving her hands quickly to his neck and back, feeling every inch of skin she could. Never before had she felt his ungloved hand. She allowed him to lower her down; Madeleine had done this many times before with her husband, but it had never been so passionate or warm. His gentle movements guided her head to lay comfortably on her coat as his cloak remained draped around them.

Erik paused for a moment, looking down into her eyes as he allowed his hand to gently feel the now flushed skin of her face and move down to her neck. As his hand trailed down her neck, her hands moved to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his vest. She reached up, pulling him down to her, demanding more contact, more of his wonderful heat.

Their lips collided again, pushing a bolt of electricity through her body. Gently, she began to slowly unbutton his vest, opening it to a now loose hanging poet's shirt. Erik let his hands move from her neck to her chest which beat heavily from her racing heart. A shock moved through her breasts as he moved his hands over her clothed chest, demanding more contact, less boundaries. It was as if the thought was contagious; Erik moved down from her lips, kissing every inch of her skin until he reached the edge of fabric concealing her body.

"The buttons," Madeleine breathed, "they're in the back." Erik pulled back for a moment, looking down into her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked and Madeleine smiled, giving him his answer. He took her hand and they stood, their bodies refusing to part. Madeleine reached up, untying his cloak and pushed it off his shoulders to the floor. She did the same for his vest which left his white shirt loose against his skin. Slowly, he turned her, carefully opening each button starting at the top of her dress. The distance between them, however, was too much, and he moved quickly against her, leaving kisses on her neck, moving down to her shoulders, and back as he opened the dress and slid it off of her arms. She shivered as his warm touch reached her bare arms; she was left with her petticoats.

Quickly, he reached down, picking her up and placed her gently on the bed, moving himself on top of her and pulled his cloak over them. He knelt, one leg on each side of her right leg and leaned down to kiss her again, this time allowing his body to lean against hers. Madeleine shifted her hips, and brought him between her legs, allowing one of hers to run against his.

Erik moved down to her neck, kissing it softly and urgently as his hands moved down her sides; it was as if he were afraid to venture where he truly wished to be, but as she lifted her hip to collide with his, he lost control of his hands and grasped her breasts with such haste that she gasped slightly. Before he could even ask if she were alright, she untucked his shirt and allowed her hands to explore his chest and back, hot with desire. Between her legs, she could feel him growing just as she felt the heat inside of her grow.

Madeleine slid his shirt off of his chest running her hands across his revealed skin, feeling the heartbeat inside of him. Gently, she grasped the dark hair that grew there and pulled slightly to make him come nearer. At that moment, Madeleine thought she heard him growl. Quickly he moved to the hem of her petticoat and let both of his hands make their way up her legs, past her hips, and over her chest to remove the fabric. She shivered from the cool air and he replaced himself above her, letting the cloak keep them warm.

Her hips thrust against his as he grew harder and longer; the only boundary between them being the thin fabric of his pants. Erik's eyes moved up and down her body, taking in what would soon be his. The tuft of curly hair where her sex lay in wait tempted him, but this was not a time of haste; they had all the time in the world. He moved his eyes up the light skin of he stomach to her breasts. Her nipples were tight and extended, looking more and more delicious every second.

Madeleine reached up to his chest with both of her hands, pulling him down against her for more kisses. Their lips collided again, their tongues meeting, but Madeleine moved her hand down his chest to what she wanted and grasped it, stroking his length from outside of his pants. Erik's hands moved to her chest, grasping one breast as his lips seized the other, gently sucking and kissing her nipple. A quiet moan escaped her lips as he flicked his tongue back and forth against the risen skin.

"Oh God... Erik..." she breathed as he moved to her other breast, kissing and teasing her nipple as he did before. With her hand, she led his length toward her sex, letting it touch her wet lips which seemed to beg for more contact, more skin. "Please..." Her other hand ran down his back, running her nails gently across the skin, producing chills wherever they moved. Erik lifted his hips, allowing her to remove the last piece of fabric denying them contact.

When his pants were successfully tossed aside, he leaned back down, letting his length run across the inside of her thighs. As she reached down to guide him, Erik grasped her hands, bringing them back to his chest. His playfulness had not yet finished as he allowed himself to move his hard organ across her hips, making her grasp his chest in want.

"Please..." she breathed, her want making her wet and warm for him. "Erik... I want you. I want to be yours."

"As you wish," he grinned, moving himself toward her waiting lips. Slowly, he allowed himself to penetrate, feeling her tightness envelop him as he moved deeper inside of her. Both of them shut their eyes, their breath stolen for the moment as they reveled in the ecstasy of contact. Erik pulled out and returned himself back inside, feeling her back wall against his head. Madeleine pulled him close, their bodies barely touching as he moved himself inside of her. Sometimes he would pull all the way out and thrust quickly in, producing a gasp from his lover. Other times, he would only pull out a bit, letting himself build up speed as they moaned and kissed, grasped and wrapped their arms around each other.

"Madeleine," he whispered into her ear as she tightened around his length.

"Oh... Eri...Erik...Erik..." She gasped, feeling herself tighten around him as he hit the perfect spot deep inside of her. As she tightened, so did he, expelling that which he had held back inside of her. Erik gasped again as another shock flew through him. Madeleine pulled him close, her eyes shut tightly as she moaned, her body reaching its climax.

Erik collapsed beside her, pulling her close so no space intruded between their bodies. Heat radiated between their skin, their hearts beginning to slow after each heavy breath. Madeleine reached her hand up to his mask, caressing the cool material and smiled. He turned his head, placing a kiss on her palm and looked back into her eyes.

"Madeleine," he smiled, running his hand across her back.

"Erik," she smiled back, pulling him closer as she let her head rest on his chest.

Beside them, the fire burned quietly, illuminating their discarded garments and silky cloak which kept them warm and hidden from the cold.


	14. Promises

A/N: Okay first off I'm SO sorry for taking forever to update! I've been busy finishing my associates and getting ready to transfer to a university for my Bachelors and Masters! But have no fear because I'm back in the game! Enjoy :)

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Sparks shivered to life in the fireplace as Erik placed another log onto the fire, bringing the flames back to life. As the fire grew, he moved back to the bed, climbing under the layers of blankets covered by his cloak. Madeleine turned, still sleeping, and laid her head back onto his chest. Erik closed his eyes as he gently ran his fingertips up and down her back.

Silently, he remembered his rash actions from the night before. Behind his closed eyes, he could see her face, eyes shut in pleasure, lips parted as they took quick breaths. _"I want to be yours..."_ Her voice echoed through his mind, and she had become his, if only for that one night. He let his hand rest on the small of her back, drawing small circles with his fingers.

Madeleine's hands seemed to trace his cheeks once again; one hand leaving chills along his skin, the other curiously tracing the contours of his mask. She did not remove, nor did she demand him to reveal his hidden features that night. No one had ever done that; not even that cursed soprano.

"Don't stop," Madeleine whispered, still in a dream. He did not realize his hands had stopped moving. As the circles commenced, her hand moved up his chest to where his heart beat, gently moving her fingers against his skin.

"I've woken you," he began quietly, "I'm sorry." Against his skin, he could feel her lips curve into a smile.

"And I've stolen your bed," she replied, her eyes remaining shut.

"You've stolen nothing that was not already yours, cher," he replied with a smile. "It's a wonderful feeling to wake beside a lover." Madeleine turned to look up at him and smiled. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she replied, moving herself further up his torso to better see him. Smiling, she placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "You fed the fire, I see. Thank you."

"No need for thanks," he smiled, pulling his cloak over her exposed shoulder. "I'm sure both of us enjoy the warmth." Madeleine smiled, resting her head back onto his chest. The warm smell of wood grew around them as the fire burned, but there was another scent she could not place. It was a mixture of sandalwood and roses that she smelled, but did it come from him? She allowed herself to inhale deeply, taking in more of this wonderful smell.

"Is everything alright?" Erik asked as Madeleine took another deep breath.

"Yes," she smiled, "there is just this wonderful scent that I can't quite place." She laughed quietly, smiling as she buried her face closer to his warm skin.

"Sandalwood?" Erik asked.

"Roses as well," she replied.

"It's what makes the water smell better when I wash," he replied. "I found it to be the most pleasant smell years ago in Persia."

"Persia?" Madeleine asked, looking up at him. "I thought you were a native Parisian." Erik smiled, turning onto his side and sitting up on his elbow. Madeleine lay on her back, pulling his cloak up to her chin.

"That was ages ago," he replied, hinting at his now mysterious past. "But those are stories for another time." Gently he reached up, placing his hand onto her cheek. "I apologize for my rash actions last night... I..."

"It's alright," Madeleine replied. "I understand. It was the rum." Erik pulled his hand away from her face and looked down in confusion, his brow ruffled.

"Rum?" He asked. "Cher, alcohol had nothing to do with my decisions."

"No?" Madeleine was hopeful now.

"No," he replied, shaking his head with a small smile. "Last night, I acted upon what I felt in my heart. I would never betray someone in that manner, especially you." Madeleine gaped down at him in amazement. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," she replied, "It's just...every time... with my husband... I did not think there was anything after."

"After?" He asked, pulling the stray cloak up to cover her shoulder.

"Yes," she sighed. "I mean... there was _nothing_. No words, no affection, nothing. Just two bodies and a need fulfilled."

"Cher," he sighed, taking her hand. "I am not him. That beast of a man is gone now; only we remain. And I have no intentions of harming you in such a way." A heat rose to her cheeks as she shut her eyes and laid her face onto his chest.

"You cannot be serious," she sighed. "There is no such thing as love."

"No such thing as love?" Erik asked, sitting up to look down at her in surprise. "Love is a real thing! What makes you think otherwise?" She shook her head silently. "Am I to assume your marriage was not voluntary?" Again, she shook her head. "That is why you do not believe in love, because you were forced to marry." He reached down to wipe away an involuntary tear from her cheek. "Madeleine, look at me." She let him guide her face up to meet his eyes. "Love is real. Never doubt that. It may be hard to find and it may be weak at first, but love is real nonetheless. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she nodded, feeling a quiet laugh escape from her chest.

"What is so funny?" Erik asked.

"We are quite a pair," she laughed, "both recluse, both damaged. Don't you think?" Erik gazed at her in confusion, but as her smile grew, he began to laugh.

"Recluse?" he laughed, "You are the recluse by choice, cher."

"By choice," she smiled. "But only until you wish me gone."

"Never," he said, taking her hands in his. "I will never wish for you to leave." A blush spread across her cheeks as he kissed her lips, holding her tightly. "Promise me," he said as he pulled away from her lips, "Promise me you'll never leave."

"I promise," she nodded, "I'll stay as long as you promise not to leave me."

"And I shall never leave." Erik replied. Madeleine looked into his cool, blue eyes, feeling like this was nothing but a fantasy, but he seemed tangible, and truthful. "You doubt me."

"I've always doubted everything that was so easily attained." she replied. "I've always questioned my own decisions and their outcomes."

"My motives are pure, if that is what concerns you." Erik said.

"I have nothing for anyone to take." she sighed. "Only myself. Only my heart."

"You have mine." Erik replied.

"But..."

"No doubts." he continued, grasping her hand. "Think nothing of the past, for it is over."

"Even her?"

"Even her." For a moment, she stared into his eyes, waiting for any sign of falsehood or doubt, but nothing came. He was sincere. She could say nothing, only take his head in her hands and kiss him. His warm arms wrapped around her back, pulling her closer. "Madeleine," he breathed, a smile spreading across his lips.

"Erik." She smiled, but another voice caught her attention.

"Erik!" It was a woman's voice, but older, and seemed somehow familiar. "Erik!"

"Wait one second, Madame, please!" Erik called back, sitting up.

"Alright," the woman replied as Erik looked down at Madeleine.

"Is that..."

"Giry," Erik replied. "Yes. It's her."


End file.
